A/N: Okay, so since my laptop battery is low, and I'm kind of lazy to charge it at the moment, I'm typing this on the desktop, which has actually become my mom's. On top of that, I have to study for mid-terms. Boo! But luckily, it's a holiday tomorrow so I don't have school tomorrow, and I have a two week break until March 3. So, yeah, that's my life in a nutshell. It's late, but enjoy.

Disclaimer: No. And I don't own Viva La Vida or any songs mentioned either. I don't own the title of this oneshot, which is honestly a coincidence. It didn't occur to me until now. So, that belongs to Drake Bell.

Highway to Nowhere

I remember the best Valentine's Day we had together, Logan.

The first together as a couple with everyone's common knowledge – even after a year.

You were so against it, so adamant on celebrating it that it almost made me think you were too stubborn for your own good. You only sent me a text to look my best, and meet you in the student parking lot. I was frustrated until you sort of kidnapped me and in the middle of California sunset, I hopped in your silver convertible and you drove. The sunset was almost ending. You drove, and drove with the profile of your face carrying that secretive smirk of yours – the one I'd come to hate and love all at once. While letting a frustrated sigh, I asked you once again, "Logan, this isn't funny or romantic. Tell me where you're taking me or I'll get out of this car and walk back to PCA."

I was aware this was an empty threat, since we were in the middle of nowhere. Even if I had carried it out, my logical mind told me the stars would guide me there. I would be able to use nature's own resources as my own compass, even though my zap watch had a built in one. But I hoped that my tone would make you understand that I wasn't enjoying myself, and I hated when you being all cryptic and mysterious.

I loved moderately kept surprises, not ones that were introduced to me as a surprise to begin with. Those were the ones that cause me great distress, and I didn't like it. But I loved you. I loved you enough to go with it.

"Is your heart beating really fast?" you asked, completely ignoring my threat as if it had never left my glossed lips. But yes, my heartbeat was accelerating, and my pulse had picked up a certain degree of speed as well.

"What does my heartbeat have to with anything?"

"Just answer the question, Quinn. We're in the middle of a freeway and almost there. You're bluffing about making me pull over so you can walk. And besides, I won't let you," you replied, eyebrows raised in a challenging manner. I didn't even notice you stopping the shiny convertible, and taking your hands off the steering wheel. You turned to me, repeating the previous question. "Is your heartbeat really fast?"

I answered because it was true, "Yes. Yes, it is."

Your grin reminded me of the Cheshire Cat in Alice In Wonderland. Your dark eyes shone with an air of mischief and secrecy when you pulled the keys out of the ignition, and come around to the passenger side, and I slipped out straightening my pink-accented dress. The belt around my waist was silver and belonged to Lola. She borrowed my shoes and she borrowed my shoes. Both of us borrowed earrings and jewellery from Zoey, but this didn't matter to you at all. You grabbed my hands and I was ready to unload all of my frustrations, and my utter dislike of being carted away to the middle of nowhere. But I didn't want to crush your spirit. Yes, Logan. My heart was beating, and my face was heating up.

Not from annoyance or even anger because you had an uncanny ability to dissolve those feelings in me before I had the chance to address them.

Sometimes, I appreciated it. And other times, I felt like you were using that for personal gain.

Either way, it worked.

"Good," was your short reply when your hand intertwined with mine. Planting yourself on the wide hood of your car, I was amazed because had this been any other circumstance, you would have fretted over the paint job, but you didn't. You took my hands and carefully pulled me up until I was with you. You put an arm around my shoulders, and directed my attention forward. "Now, look over there."

Soon, it was directed upwards too, and I completely understood the relevance of the question.

I heard myself whisper, "Oh my God."

My heart absolutely stopped. Or at least, it felt that way – like my heart skipped every two beats. But how it could not? How could my breath not be lodged it in my throat as my eyes scanned nature literally running its course. It was beautiful, Logan. The sky was beginning to turn blue with little stars starting to make its appearance. Traces of the sunset were disappearing slowly like a blend of colours melting off an artist's canvas. And then there was more blue as I surveyed what was above, and only wished I had brought my high powered miniature telescope to see what was really out there. Celestial bodies, and maybe a couple planets.

I took a breath in, the air free of pollution filling my insides, and turned to you, "How did you find this place?"

You shrugged in that way that seemed like you really didn't care when I knew you did.

"I was driving from Anger Management classes one day. I failed to say that it was ten minutes away by car, but anyway, I was totally pissed off because a cantaloupe narrowly missed my head," you started to explain, and I grew confused. A cantaloupe? You shook your head, watching me rationalize it in my mind because it was a habitual thing for me to do, even on Valentine's Day. You held my gaze for a minute, our eyes meeting. You absentmindedly went for my hand and let you find it. "Don't ask because I've come to believe that Katie is the child from The Exorcist – she can turn her head all the way around."

"And projectile vomit, I suppose?"

"Exactly," you answered, shortly and it sounded definite. I laughed at the wild imagination you carried, and you continued. "Yeah, so anyway, I took a detour and grew curious when I saw this highway practically stretching to nowhere until there was this other road. And it led me here. That's why my class was over at seven, and I didn't come back to PCA until nine. I was hangin' here. And," you smiled, and kissed the back of my hand which was still cradled in yours. "I like you more than anyone else so I wanted to show you. No one else knows."

I was touched you opened yourself up to me like that, Logan. You had done it before, but it felt like the book that had been compiled with all of your thoughts, dreams and ambitions just had more pages added onto it, and I got to read it. Only I got to read and I considered that a privilege, so thank you.

Thank you so much.

"Wow, for someone who is anti-Valentine's Day, you're being super romantic right now."

"Are you saying that every other day I'm just plainly romantic?"

I couldn't resist the chance to tease you a little bit, so I moved closer, and linked your arm in mine. I laughed and looked up at you, "Maybe."

"Ouch. Below the belt, Pensky."

"I'm kidding, Logan. I'm kidding, but I have a question. And don't charm your way out of it – or use the cuteness to circumvent the issue," I warned. You replied with an ask away, and then you smirked in the proud way like I had just infused your ego with leftover Frazz. Or stroked it until it grew. Still, you held that mischievous, devious smirk of yours.

"Wait, you think I'm charming and good-looking?"

"I hardly think stating the obvious will help, baby, but seriously, why do you have an issue with Valentine's Day?" I asked you, and I felt the grip on my hand loosen before it tightened again. To tell you the truth, had you let go, I would have felt cold and inwardly groaned from the lack of contact. That's what it had come down to.

"Easy. It's an entire rip-off. Heart-shaped balloons don't make them any more special. It's going to pop, and the chocolate will melt. Where everyone gorges on candy, and it's an excuse to tell your boyfriend or girlfriend how you feel," you answered, seriously. The look in your eyes wasn't teasing. It wasn't playful, and the tone in your voice almost scared me. I never knew you were capable of such definitive qualities, even after a year of being your girlfriend. It just caused me to blink in shock, and I looked to the left of me, feeling a twinge of hurt for no particular reason.

"So, you wouldn't tell me how you feel on something like Valentine's Day?"

"Why would I?" you returned, and lowered your tone to something that was gentler, but for some unknown reason, I refused to look at you. And you knew I didn't want to look at you. But I didn't want to leave this place that had too many fairytale-like qualities to be tangible and real to me. "Quinn, you know how I feel about you. You said yourself that stating the obvious wasn't cool."

I was going to decode this.

I was going to find out why you avoided Valentine's Day like the bubonic plague.

My curiosity was building, and turned to you, my lips pursed in a thin line, voice questioning, "Why are you wearing red?"

"Okay, so now we're playing 20 Questions," you concluded, and answered my question in a challenging tone. "It's my favourite colour."

"Why?"

"It's been that way since I was five. Take a good look at my clothes and you'll see that half the stuff I wear is red," you quipped. "Why are you wearing pink?"

I narrowed my eyes through my glasses, "I felt like it. It felt fitting for this occasion."

"Quinn," you said my name, and sighed heavily as if something with an amount of weight gave way and finally stopped blocking your airways. "I don't need a holiday, putting a gun to my head and forcing me to tell you how I feel. I do that already. You know that I love the thinking face you have when you study, and you lightly chew on your bottom lip. You know I love your eyes – even though they hide behind your glasses. But your glasses make you who you are. I love everything about you. Jesus, Quinn. I love you. Screw Valentine's Day."

You made my heart beat faster in my chest again, and I believed you.

"You mean that?"

"No," you replied, in that good-natured sarcastic coated tone. "I just spout off my feelings to brunette girls with brains and insanely hot beauty. There must be another Quinn Pensky I'm dating."

I smiled, feeling like the luckiest girl around. What wouldn't have happened if yours and my paths didn't cross? I felt an odd sense of gratitude towards Mark and Brooke, as angry and furious as I was with them. Well, I wasn't mad, but I know you held deep resentment for Mark especially for making me cry. It wasn't because he dumped me quite harshly, but you believed he was truly an idiot. Even though I was trying not to make it so there were ill feelings between myself and Mark. You, resentful and quite witty, took jabs at him.

And it was the only time I saw you and Lola high-five each other as the Discreetly-Insult-Mark Tag Team, when you stopped firing insults at each other that moment. You were my boyfriend and she was my best friend. I almost felt bad.

Yet I had an odd sense of gratitude towards him. Because through my grief, I developed a fondness for you. One that hasn't gone away.

"So, can I just kiss you?"

"I'm not objecting, Logan, am I?"

"Why would you?"

"Oh, just kiss me already," I told you and you kissed me. You kissed me on the hood of your car. You cradled my face and I ran my fingers through your sandy brown curls. I could feel your tongue outlining the pattern of my lips, every line, every trace. And honestly, I tried not to react to the sensation. I tried to keep all of those moans in the back of my throat, but you pulled them out of me when I granted you entrance.

Before I realized, you were top of me, my dress riding up just a little.

"Logan," I called you, and it came out breathy when you began working on my neck, sucking and biting. I was bound for a hickey. It was inevitable. But I still indulged in the situation. Maybe my long caged libido had broken free from the cage deep within my psyche. Or maybe I was being self-indulgent. Maybe it was a medley of everything. For once, I wasn't entirely sure. "Logan."

"Hmm?"

"You realize," I started in between kissing you. You held my waist, steadying me so I wouldn't slip off the shiny, glossy texture of your car hood. "I won't," you kissed me again, long, passionate and deep, and it was a fight keeping my train of thought. Look what you were doing to me, Logan. That didn't mean I liked it. "…sleep with you here."

You stopped, and your hands were on either side of me while I was on your car hood. I found myself, running a manicured finger behind your left earlobe.

"Why?" you asked, your face flushed and your hair stuck up in odd places. Only slightly. It wasn't like when you just rolled out of bed.

"Think about it," my logic reappeared, while straightening my slightly askew glasses and I shook my head. "I'm not denying you. After all, I want to. I want to be with you. But on the hood of your car while in some wooded getaway isn't the ambience I pictured."

You sighed, with a roll of your eyes, "I guess not."

You and I both spent the next five minutes, straightening ourselves out. My hair was back to being the way it was even I had to reapply my lip gloss. My dress was at my knees again, instead of giving you access to my thighs. I couldn't feel the friction and pressure underneath of your denim jeans anymore. You were as ready as I was but there was no protection and sleeping with you in the woods, as beautiful as it was, didn't sit too well within me.

Make no mistake. I wanted to. I was ready.

"So, what now?"

"Well, I guess this Valentine's thing is a big deal, so one romantically cheesy thing before we go back to PCA," you replied with an off-handed shrug before I heard the beginnings of Coldplay's Viva La Vida permeating from the car stereo. I was completely enamoured with that song, and the blame totally lied with Chase in that matter. "Girls like dancing at night underneath stars and such, right?"

"Wow, that is cheesy and clichéd."

"Okay, so we're not doing it."

"Yes, we are," I objected, and I grabbed your hand and swayed along to Chris Martin's soothing voice. You held my waist, and pulled me close and gave me access to smell your cologne. I whispered to you, while you held me. "So, have you grown to love Valentine's Day yet?"

"No," you answered, and I frowned a little. But you smiled softly. "But we'll see, Quinn. Just hope I don't throw up next year."

That was your typical answer for Maybe, and it was enough for me to accept.

You didn't talk for the rest of the night when our starlit dance ended and it was time for us to go back to the highway to nowhere and actually go somewhere – to PCA.

I didn't talk because I yawned and fell asleep peacefully, your arms loosely but securely around me while you drove. Yes, this was the one of those most memorable days of my life.

And I hoped to have many more with you.

A/N: And there it is. My Valentine's Day thing full of Quogan fluff. I thought of this while going to church this morning. I hoped you enjoy. I'm planning a Rebecca/James one next, while working on the 20th drabble for "The Little Things…" And I've decided to end with 30 instead of 50. Thirty seems like a good solid number.

Anyway, review and tell me what you think. Don't write "awesome", "cute story" or anything along those lines. Seriously. Or the psycho-bitch in me will appear and it won't be pretty. At least give me the impression, you've connected with the story in some ways. Okay? Okay.

Oh, and I put out a Zogan oneshot called Attraction. Even if you hate the pairing, give it a read and tell me what you think. It would be appreciated.

-Erika